


Blindfold

by bittermelon (mrasaki)



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Angst, Blindness, Dubious Consent, Ficlet, M/M, Pre-Advent Children, in-game canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 17:19:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrasaki/pseuds/bittermelon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rufus is blackly, morbidly drunk by the time Sephiroth arrives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blindfold

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, look what I found while cleaning out my "in-progress" fic directory.
> 
> This was written a while back for a kink ficathon with the prompt, "blindfold", and was a pleasure to write for nostalgia's sake; FF7 was the first fandom I ever participated in, back when I went by the handle 'rituko' or 'rtuko.' So take this as a kind of fond farewell to my first fandom love. I haven't really invested that much of my time in any other fandom since except maybe STXI, and the memories are good.
> 
>    
> WARNING: This is, at the very least, dubcon. Because Sephiroth, no matter how justified he may be, is a dick.

Rufus is blackly, morbidly drunk by the time Sephiroth arrives. It might be the fault of the Mideel brandy or the Costa del Sol rum that he mixed it with, but he doesn’t even see him arrive: one moment, the balcony is empty, and the next, not.

Then Sephiroth’s across the balcony, through the double-thick glass window as if it doesn’t exist. It’s all right though. He’s been waiting for something like this to happen, his father’s body still warm in the morgue and Rufus still dizzy from jetlag; even as his R&D team swings into action and the Turks hunt Avalanche across the world, he knows he’s only living on borrowed time.

Sephiroth presses him back into his father’s armchair, and there’s only a moment, a breath of the acrid tang of mako before he is kissed. It’s a forceful act of taking, tongue pushing into his mouth, sliding along the ridges of his teeth, teasing his own out to meet it. The familiarity of it shocks him, even as he pushes up into it with his mouth and pushes away with his hands, only knowing that Sephiroth may kill him or fuck him, or both. They’d known each other, before Nibelheim. Life sometimes took strange turns.

Clothing whispers apart under Sephiroth’s hands and Rufus opens his eyes where they’d fallen shut to find – nothing. Blackness. He can’t see. “What did you do to me?” he demands, really pushing away now, but Sephiroth is like a monolith, immovable as rock, and Rufus’ shoves, though Rufus is hardly a weakling, has no effect. 

“You’re blind,” Sephiroth tells him, in that silky reasonable tone that Rufus realizes is the voice of madness. “Don’t worry, it’s only temporary.”

Rufus stills at this, fighting down the fear that wells in him with iron control; without vision he is crippled but he doesn’t need his vision. He just needs to survive long enough to get the Junon cannon ready, and without his vision he can pretend. Pretend that this is five years ago, that they are friends, sometimes lovers.

Sephiroth’s hair falls around him, tickling his skin like feathers. His touch is gentle now, and he licks along the lines of Rufus’ collarbone and up the line of his neck to the spot that always makes Rufus shiver. It’s a familiar touch, a knowing one. He can’t help but respond to it, opening himself up to the hands sliding down, pushing clothing aside as they go. Warmth and wet on one nipple, a tongue down to his belly button, a breath on the wiry hairs there. A chuckle as Rufus twines his fingers into the hair that falls around him like a curtain, every sensation magnified in the dark.

When Sephiroth finally takes him, pushing into him with his usual directness, Rufus calls his name.


End file.
